


The Remix

by rikke_leonhart



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 21:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15980786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikke_leonhart/pseuds/rikke_leonhart
Summary: The EP "Glass Heart" drops on a Monday night. Yuuri would like it if no one figured out it's his.Victor, a writer wrestling writer's block, would love to know who makes such lovely music.





	The Remix

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yuliaplisetskaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuliaplisetskaya/gifts).



> For yuliaplisetskaya! I really hope you enjoy this, I had fun writing it!  
> THANK YOU to the ever-patient mods; for my incessant questions and for lightning fast beta.

*

The EP drops on a Monday night.

 

Well, _drops_ is perhaps a bit of a generous exaggeration, since it’s more like the zip file is uploaded in all quietness and very discreetly on Monday morning and is posted on a single account where it sits unnoticed until user chuchuchu reblogs it six hours later.

 

Within the first week of its appearance, it’s downloaded about twenty thousand times and that’s not counting the various reuploads that occurs. (Also not counting the way the original upload service gives up three days in because the download count has exceeded the maximum.)

 

In Japan, Katsuki Yuuri made songs to deal with his crippling anxiety and his so far worst year of existence, and the songs he made as therapy is now giving him anxiety in return. He does his best to breathe through it.

 

He shuts off his computer, looks at Phichit’s reassuring texts and then as an afterthought, switches off his phone. The night outside the window is dark, and he draws the curtains closed and staggers. When he’s secure on the ground, he presses his face into his knees and tries very hard not to cry.

 

*

 

Victor stares at the blinking cursor. Every blink is a taunt and he barely resists the urge to throw the computer across the room, if only because it’d be embarrassing to explain to Yakov that he needed yet another new computer to replace the old one, thank you kindly.

 

He can only blame clumsiness and coffee so many times.

 

The document remains startlingly empty, just after the third paragraph on page 82, chapter four. Selena, his heroine, remains stubbornly unable to move away from her café and Dan remains a stubborn asshole. Every attempt at making either of them more likable has resulted in Victor’s fingers itching for a good throw, and then he’s back to not wanting to tell Yakov why he needs a new computer.

 

Coffee. His life needs 110% more coffee at the very least. The world is a better place with caffeine in it.

 

He gets up and sets course for the kitchen, stopping outside Yuri’s room, because the music coming out from that closed door? That is not Yuri’s usual angry death fest. If anything, it’s the exact opposite.

 

Victor likes playing with fire. He opens the door. “Are you depressed?”

 

“Shut up!” Yuri hisses and the music is cut off.

 

“What is that? You usually blast the doors off with metal and screaming guitars, what happened? Did you develop angst overnight?”

 

“I said _shut up_ ,” Yuri moans. “What the hell, you never care what I’m listening to, so fuck off!”

 

“That’s because normally it’s like you want to kill _me_ with the music but this sounded like you wanted to kill yourself,” Victor continues cheerily and closes the door quickly enough that the pillow that gets thrown hits the door and not his face. He opens again. When the second pillow is thrown and is followed by something much heavier, Victor retreats.

 

It’s later, when Victor is on yet another coffee run and he stops to listen – and it sounds like dulcet piano and a pretty voice, quiet and fragile, and there –

 

“Yura? Are you alright?” He opens the door. He stops. Blinks. “Holy shit, are you _crying_?”

 

“Fuck _off_ ,” Yuri sniffles and hunches over his computer. “Fuck off, seriously, go _away_.”

 

“Yura, if something’s wrong, I want to help,” he says and he’d wanted to rib him a bit, probably, but not if Yuri is genuinely upset about something. “Tell me?”

 

Yuri looks at him as if he’s not quite sure Victor isn’t taking the piss and honestly, approaching Yuri is always sort of like making a wild, feral animal come to you. Except, the wild, feral animal would probably be less violent.

 

“Beka sent me some music,” he finally says, still looking wary and like he’s already regretting it. “And if you can listen to it and not cry there’s something wrong with you. More than usual.”

 

“Thanks,” Victor says drily. “Send it to me.”

 

Suspicion is such a natural look on Yuri that it doesn’t register as anything but normal these days, but even for him, he looks suspicious. “Why? You like writing in silence.”

 

“Maybe I want to try something new,” Victor says and shrugs and really, why not? If it’s genuinely terrible, he can always switch it off, and besides, if the music can make Yuri admit to feeling anything else than teenage rage, then Victor really should give it a shot.

 

“Fine, but shut up.”

 

“I didn’t say anything!”

 

“I can hear you breathing, that’s too much!” Yuri insists and Victor doesn’t even bother trying to hide his smugness, and he’s rewarded by not being quick enough to duck under the pillow that sails through the air.

 

*

 

The blinking cursor is _blurry_.

 

“You’re crying!”

 

“His voice is _beautiful_ ,” Victor admits. “Do you have more?”

 

Yuri crows in triumph. “I’ll send you the entire EP.”

 

*

 

_Someone give this boy a record deal OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS_

_Who the fuck is he though??? I need names. And an address. And a one way ticket. J/K. Maybe._

_LEAVE HIM ALONE he is precious precious precious I can’t breathe through my tears_

_Generic sad songs boo hoo we’ve heard this before. Try again, emo boy._

_Not his fault you’ve developed an acute case of no taste, I think it’s for sale somewhere._

_I need a link for buying this this boy deserves all my money * \o/*_

_Do you even have money???_

_Lol burn_

_No but WHO IS HE?????_

_¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯_

 

*

 

BassKing wrote:

 

_If you haven’t downloaded Glass Heart yet, the EP that blew up last week, you’re seriously missing out. This is part THREE OF MY GUSHING OVER THIS EP. If you somehow missed my weeping over this twice last week, linkie link._

_We don’t know who this guy is, not yet and maybe we won’t ever, but oh boy. This boy can *sing*, but even more importantly, he can *write*. I wept with some of the chord progressions and the way his voice soars over the melancholy piano pieces. Some of the songs are electrified and has some throwback to the synth of the 80’s funk, but the lyrics are actually heartbreaking._

_My boyfriend asked me if I was alright as I was crying to a dance track, because it was so upbeat but the lyrics just did it for me._

_From the beginning to the end, the entire EP is a journey. Again, we know absolutely nothing about this boy who came from out of nowhere, but it’s easy to imagine the heartbreak, and I don’t even think it’s about love, or if it is, it’s about love for oneself. It’s rare for me these days to enjoy every single song on an album, but this is one of them. I won’t bore you with talking about all the tracks, but I’ll mention my favorites (yet again LOL I have no self-restraint):_

_The opening track, Twice Today, where he’s accompanied only by the plucks of an acoustic guitar and his own voice layered over in harmony and almost feels like a revelation, a thoughtful delivery of the line_ I love you more when you’re gone and I can sleep again _, and it just breaks my heart._

_The synth piece How You Feeling, the absolutely stunning instrumental piano piece Them, the surprising acoustic cover of 30 Seconds To Mars’ The Story and the beautiful message of Titanium._

_If you’re (somehow) still not tired of me gushing over this EP, I’m sure I’ll be back with more incoherent whale noises in a few days haha!_

 

*

 

No one knows who he is, and Yuuri prefers that.

 

It becomes a source of immense relief that he desperately clings to the week after his EP is downloaded all over the world and the speculation starts. All the songs are in English because every time he tried singing in Japanese he’d end up having difficulty breathing out of fear that someone would recognize him. Ironic how he’d started having panic attacks over the songs he’d written in order to cope better.

 

Phichit is his self-appointed press guy – Phichit scrolls through all the reblogs, all the mentions, all the hashtags – and tells him accordingly if there’s anything urgent he needs to know and then compiles the sweet posts into packets and sends them to him for a rainy day. Lately, Yuuri’s had a lot of rainy days.

 

It’s not to get an ego-boost. It really isn’t. There’s a reason that Phichit’s emails with the compiled posts always are titled something along the lines of _I can’t believe you don’t believe it_ or _why are you like this_ or even _your fans make me CRY omg you have fans what am I saying OF COURSE YOU HAVE FANS_.

 

The one he just received is titled _You want to believe_ and the first link in the mail goes straight to the X-Files theme, and he sends off a text immediately that just says _you’re such an ass_.

 

There’s a bunch of other links, though, and he can’t help the way something in his stomach rolls uncomfortably before tightening. It’s not fear, not quite, but he’s definitely unsettled. It’s nice, though, because Phichit makes sure it’s only good things, and after fretting over the songs for such a long time, it’s something like catharsis to realize that other people find them good, too. For Yuuri it’s been therapy. When he reads a comment that says; _I didn’t know anyone else felt that way_ , Yuuri realizes the songs are therapy for someone else as well.

 

_Fuck I swear it’s like he put words to my soul._

_I’m not crying YOU’RE CRYING WE’RE ALL CRYING_

_I just want to know what it’s like to have such control over one’s voice, I mean, did you all hear the melismas at the end of Titanium??? Holy shit, boy got *pipes*._

_Perfect pitch, I could have sex to that song forever and ever amen._

_I wonder if he’s single and if he is then I’m just putting it out there that I’m single too, very single, so very single and so so so so so ready to not be single PLEASE SANTA I’VE BEEN SO GOOD THIS YEAR_

*

 

Some of the comments make his cheeks burn, and it’s awkward and uncomfortable and such an out of body experience to have anyone talk about him like that, but… if it makes people happy, if his songs can make people _feel_ , then – then it’s everything Yuuri could ever want.

 

The last post in the email makes him want to cry.

 

_I hope Glass Heart is okay. I don’t know who he is or what he’s been through, but I hope he’s happy and safe and wrapped up in a warm blanket with someone he cares about._

 

Well, he’s got the blanket, he’s safe in his bed, his family is downstairs and he has Phichit only a call away, he supposes that’ll have to do for now. He’s as close to happy as he can ever remember being, even if the thought feels somewhat hollow. He’s not happy, not really, not all the time, but there are times where he feels good, where he feels good about himself and what he sings and how he dances, and sometimes he thinks the road to happiness is shorter than he fears.

 

He’s a work in progress is what he tells himself on the days he can’t breathe. It’s just that it’s hard to remember some of the time.

 

*

 

“Help,” Victor says.

 

On the screen, Chris blinks back at him. “I’m game for providing an alibi and to help dispose of the body. When and where?”

 

Victor drops his head into his hands. “Help, I’m obsessed.”

 

Chris rolls his eyes. “Like that’s new. What now? Another baking show? Paul Hollywood? Mary Berry?”

 

“That was for _research_ , and thank you, that turned out to be an amazingly well-reviewed book,” Victor says for what feels like the millionth time and Chris grins in response. “And the scones were good.”

 

Chris is still grinning. “Out with it. What’s got you so obsessed this time if it’s not cake recipes?”

 

“I don’t even _know_ , that’s the problem. Yura sent some music and – ”

 

Chris groans. “Is it Les Miserablés again?”

 

Victor frowns right back. “I like Les Miserablés.”

 

“The _musical_.”

 

“It’s not Les Miserablés, it’s a guy, and – ”

 

Chris _groans_. “Oh no, it’s a _singer_.”

 

“Shut up, it’s not like that – okay, maybe it’s a little bit like that, but I don’t even know who’s singing!”

 

“The internet knows everything,” Chris shrugs. “Google him.”

 

Victor frowns. “There’s nothing. There’s a Wikipedia page for the EP but not for the guy himself. Maybe I should make one. But what would I write? Guy of unknown nationality and unknown age, sings like an angel and like he hears my _soul_. I hope he’s single and ready to mingle. With me.”

 

The audacity – Chris _laughs_. “Oh dear.”

 

It’s a lie – almost. Well, it’s a half-truth, at least, because there’s no way this boy, this man? – whoever he is, isn’t beautiful. He could be the least attractive person in the entire world and he would still be beautiful to Victor. He’s biased and obsessed. It’s not altogether the healthiest combination.

 

Victor could cry that there’s nothing about him on the internet. No picture, no information, no record company to send fan letters and gift baskets and his phone number and address to. It’s unfair and Victor really could _cry_. It’s not that Victor would ask the boy to marry him at the first chance he got, but it’s that _he would ask the boy to marry him the first chance he got_.

 

Chris is right: Oh dear.

 

Yuri had laughed himself sick; cackled all over the house when he walked in on Victor crying the second day in a row, crowed something about karmic justice and cosmic retribution, but honestly, Victor stopped paying attention in order to blow his nose lest snot would clog up his computer.

 

The internet calls him Glass Heart. Some fans call him _ohmygodHISVOICEISSEX_. Victor agrees with that assessment, and now has an account now filled to the brim with everything even remotely related to Glass Heart. It includes everything that has been on a blog that has something with Glass Heart on it, and all his saved posts are meta about the songs, gushing, and reviews of them.

 

The occasional naysayer gets their internet citizenship revoked immediately – Victor stayed up the entire night when the internet rallied together to protect their cinnamon roll. (To be entirely honest – a lot of the internet makes no sense to Victor whatsoever: why is Glass Heart a _cinnamon roll_? Victor is so confused, and he wrote a romance novel about _baking_.)

 

“I can’t help it,” Victor admits, quieter now. He’s listened to this EP for three solid weeks now and he still feels tears prickle at his eyes when he listens to the words. He’s not quite sure what he’s writing at the moment, but it has nothing to with Stubborn Selena or Stubborn Asshole Dan, and it still feels like the most liberating thing he’s ever written.

 

It’s probably incoherent.

 

“Well,” Chris shrugs. “Maybe just ride it out? Maybe he’ll emerge when he’s ready to, maybe he just needs to vent and doesn’t want the attention directly? Your first collection of poetry was released under a pseudonym, you’d know how that feels.”

 

“Yes,” Victor says, “but everyone still had a name to go from, at the least. This time there’s nothing at all to go from.”

 

“Maybe that’s the entire point and you just keep missing it.”

 

It’s so annoying when Chris makes sense.

 

*

 

_Okay, hold up, children. Glass Heart is not yours, you don’t own him, he doesn’t owe you anything, so stop demanding for him to show his face and reveal himself jesus fucking Christ this fandom is insane, I swear_

_Okay mom, but who died and made u the mayor of fandom, get over urself asshole_

_Calm your tits, everyone, *he* wouldn’t want us to fight like this, right?_

_OH MY GOD DID YOU SEE THIS??? I CNAT IM HYPERVENTILATING I C A N T B R E A T H E_

_HOLY SHIT IS THAT REAL??_

_I THINK SO It’s from a music blog and the guy running it is usually really reliable and I love him._

_Not as much as Glass Heart, though, right?_

_I swear on my OTP._

_Who are we shipping Glass Heart with?_

_Happiness well d’uh._

 

*

 

Phichit convinces him to do the interview with the promise he’ll stay anonymous, cross his heart and hope to die. He knows Leo, anyway, but he’s not sure how everyone wouldn’t just think it’s fake since his name won’t be in it, his face won’t be in it and his voice won’t be in it. Phichit looks exasperated and fond when he says to not worry about it, and then says something about fangirls being thirsty as fuck.

 

Sometimes it’s like Phichit speaks a completely different language.

 

The entire time he’s talking to Leo, he feels his throat going tight and his spine tense, and he thinks maybe everyone can see just how high and worried he holds his shoulders. His fingers itch for a pen; he wants to go somewhere private, somewhere he can curl around his guitar or over his keyboard and hide and _breathe_.

 

He'd thought – well, he doesn’t know what he’d thought, but maybe it had been something along the lines of getting everything out of his system and then carrying on with his life, but he’s like a faulty tap now, that he can’t quite close it again now that he’s allowed a little bit of his songs to slip out. He’d thought – sing about it, get it out, make it heard and deal with it and don’t cry so much anymore, but he wants to sing even more now. It’s a strange addiction; panicking over people hearing his words and his thoughts and his emotions, but wanting it because it means someone out there hears him. Hears beyond the pleasing chord progressions and the words and feels what _he_ feels.

 

“So, the EP happened,” Leo says, “and you singlehandedly broke the internet. Congratulations on that!”

 

Yuuri doesn’t know what to say to that, couldn’t even if he did because his throat feels tight. He nods and tries to unclench his fingers from his thighs.

 

“What’s your thoughts on staying anonymous?”

 

He can do this. One word at a time if need be. “I would hope that my songs speak for themselves. I don’t want to tell people what they should feel when they listen to my songs. I’m a firm believer of interpreting the songs for yourself and feeling what you want to instead of getting spoon fed with my own analysis. It’s one of the reasons I don’t want to be known for what I look like and who I am, but rather a sort of – I don’t know, faceless singer.”

 

Leo nods and jots something down on his notepad. “So the internet could just as well call you Faceless as they call you Glass Heart?”

 

“It’s not like it’s inaccurate,” Yuuri admits, warming up to the topic. He knows music, he can talk about it. He knows Leo and Leo is good at what he does. It’ll be alright. It’ll be _alright_. “There’s a reason the EP is called that, after all. I don’t mind them calling me that.”

 

“You have a rather dedicated following already,” Leo notes. “A lesser man may call them overwhelming.”

 

“They’re great,” Yuuri says vehemently.

 

“They’re _dedicated_ ,” Leo says again, grinning.

 

“They’re _great_ ,” Yuuri stresses. “If they take time to listen to my music and feel _something_ about it, good or bad, then they’re great.”

 

“You’re popular with them, and for good reasons - you’re a good singer and a fantastic musician. How wide is your range?”

 

That’s – not something he thinks about every day. “I don’t actually know,” he admits, “I’ve been told it’s somewhere along three octaves, give or take a few semitones.”

 

“And how many instruments do you actually play?”

 

Yuuri shrugs. “I don’t know. If it’s got strings, chances are I can do something with it.”

 

“What was your first instrument?”

 

“My first instrument was the violin, but my first love was the cello. Nowadays I’m more likely to lug my guitar around, though.”

 

“And you’re classically trained?”

 

Yuuri nods and manages to not panic. He doesn’t like thinking about it.

 

“Any other instruments beside strings? Piano, perhaps?”

 

*

 

_FUCK EVERYTHING how is this boy so good at everything???_

_He’s a gigantic music *nerd* is what he is, do you guys even realize how cool it is that he got into a discussion about how the piano is considered both a stringed and a percussive instrument? I need to marry him, stat._

_LMAO get in line, bish, he can get it any day._

_I can just imagine him saying these things, like, his voice does things to me when he sings, so his speaking voice is probably soft like caramel or velvet or something soft like fluffy puppies_

_HELP I HAVE FEELINGS_

_Can’t help you with that, I’m already dead because of his SLAYAGE_

_Emo boy, though, all his songs suggest that he’s a complete and utter emo, I mean, he probably writes poems and shit in his diary, there are so many others like him_

_Troll, go back under your bridge._

_I have a hard time telling when he’s mixing, his chest and head voice are so beautiful and pure and I CAN’T REALLY TELL and it drives me crazy, I do this for a living fml_

_Surejan.gif_

 

*

 

“- and then he says he might be working on new music, but he’ll only make music when he feels like it and that as long as he feels like he has something to say, he’ll probably do it.”

 

Yuri looks decidedly unimpressed with him, which Victor can’t even blame him for. Victor has finished three chapters in the time it normally takes him to sludge through one when he’s going through a block, and he rewarded himself with reading the only interview Glass Heart has given.

 

“New music, Yura! We only just got the first EP and he’s going to give us another one?”

 

“Victor, you’re being a sicko, you’re completely obsessed with this guy, and he’s not even _that_ great.”

 

Victor launches himself across the couch. “Take that back! You _cried_!”

 

From somewhere beneath Victor’s body, several pillows and a blanket, Yuri spits something that sounds like death threats. It must be a Wednesday.

 

Yakov is not impressed with Victor’s new obsession either, but as long as Victor keeps writing, Yakov probably couldn’t care less. They’ve been working together long enough now that Yakov only meddles when there’s no other way, and this time it’s actually making Victor productive.

 

“Can you figure out who he is?”

 

Yakov raises an eyebrow. “How would I do that? I have connections with editors and publishers and none whatsoever with music. What do you expect me to do? Try craigslist if you’re that desperate. Besides, you have an interview tomorrow, so get on that instead and try not to embarrass me.”

 

Victor raises an eyebrow right back. It’s not as impressive as Yakov’s, but what can a man do? “What about not embarrassing _myself_?”

 

Yakov lets out the long-suffering sigh of a man who’s given up on the world at large several times but plows on out of sheer willpower and spite. “You’re doing that on the regular, try not to take me down with you, will you?”

 

*

 

It’s Phichit’s idea to make the video, because of course it is. Yuuri doesn’t want to do it, not really and definitely not at first, but Phichit promises it’ll be alright. He trusts Phichit with his life, so he does it. He flies back to Detroit and they go out in the very early morning when the sun is still pale and the air crisp.

 

Phichit is right behind him, filming just the back of him as he walks through the streets of Detroit in the soft, early light. He has a long, woolen coat on, a big scarf bundled around his neck and Phichit had said that no one would recognize him like this. It’s probably true – it’s just his back, and he thinks he can make Phichit make it black and white, too, or sepia, perhaps.

 

He has earbuds in and it’ll never not be odd to hear his own voice so close, but it’s soothing, too.

 

It’s a risk, a breathless chance he’s taking with this one, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make the words come out in English, not like they meant anything. They sounded flat and lifeless and when he asked Phichit and Celestino about it, they’d just said to go for it.

 

“I just googled it,” Celestino had said. “There are roughly 126 million people in Japan, how would they know it’s _you_?”

 

So Yuuri sings in Japanese and feels so liberated, and as he walks in the early Detroit morning, hands buried deep in his pocket, he hears himself sing in his ears.

 

*

 

_OH MY GOD HE IS THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING_

_I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO ATTRACTED TO SOMEONE’S BACK WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME OH GOD_

_HALP I CNAT BRAGJSDJKALSDA_

_I’M SHOOK_

_Gentle reminder to everyone to breathe and remember that it’s probably not him if he doesn’t want to run the risk of being recognized._

_I made this cover to go with the music, be kind, I have no photoshop skills_

_SOPH YOU ARE A NINJA FFS LOOK AT YOUR ART HOW DO YOU DO THIS TO ME WOMNA SAJDHJADH_

_FUCK THIS MY SKIN IS CLEAR AND MY CROPS WATERED is he Japanese?? I don’t understand a single word he’s singing but fuck me it’s beautiful!_

_Japanese speaking side of fandom please get on this asap. COME THROUGH FOR US PLEASE and thank you_

_Already on it LOL LINK it’s quick and I will revise later when I get back from work, but here it is! I need the official lyrics for a more precise translation, but I did my best!_

_You’re a goddess among mortals <3_

_*_

 

Victor is at a book signing for his newest release in London when a fan asks him the all important question:

 

“If more of your books were made into movies, who would you want to sing on the soundtrack?”

 

“Glass Heart,” he says without thinking, and then when he’s thought about it he adds, “definitely. I don’t think anyone in the entire world understands how I feel as much as he does.”

 

The girl looks like she’s trying not to faint and she grabs weakly for her book (that Victor still hasn’t let go of, or signed, even.) He scribbles quickly and smiles at her, and she says, “I’m such a fan, oh my god.”

 

“Thanks,” he says on reflex, and then, “oh, _oh_ , isn’t he marvelous? I wish I could listen to him all day, every day.”

 

“He’s beautiful,” she breathes and clutches the book to her chest. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re a fan too, that makes me so _happy_. Oh my god, no one will believe this. Can I – I mean, can I post this on twitter or – ?”

 

When he gets back home, Yakov has emailed him three times, with three separate links and an increasing amount of exclamation points and exasperated threats and somehow, his twitter following has exploded.

 

*

 

“Yuuri, the download count on the original link is going nuts – are you hyperventilating?”

 

“No,” Yuuri says into the phone, and it’s the truth. He feels mostly numb, to be entirely honest. “I just sort of can’t feel my face.”

 

 “And not in the fun song way, I assume,” Phichit returns. “What can I do?”

 

“Maybe,” Yuuri begins, wets his lips, _god,_ his throat is so dry, “maybe, you could find out why…?”

 

“Why…? Why everyone and their mother is downloading your music or…?”

 

Yuuri nods even though he knows Phichit can’t see him through the phone.

 

“Yuuri, your music is amazing, you know I think that, but I don’t think you realize just _how_ amazing it is and how amazing _you_ are.” Phichit sounds gentle but determined. “I don’t want you to think anything else but that. However, the thing is… someone may have said something about your music. And if you had twitter or Instagram, you’d know by now.”

 

Torn between wanting to know and fleeing under covers, he almost doesn’t ask. But he does. “Who?”

 

“Victor Nikiforov.”

 

Yuuri feels his world screech to a solid halt, and he stumbles in the brake marks. His throat has _never_ been this dry. “W-what?”

 

“You know who it is,” Phichit says, gentle but firm. “And I’m not saying you should dive into the fray, because you totally shouldn’t, but, you know, you should just realize that it’s not just an internet phenomenon anymore. You’re not just an internet phenomenon anymore. You’re so much more – Yuuri, breathe, fuck, count with me, okay?”

 

*

 

Yakov is frowning when he reads over the last page of the printouts Victor had handed him upon arrival. Victor, for his part is leaning back in his chair, sipping his coffee and feeling pretty great about everything.

 

“Vitya, this is… not your usual style.”

 

Victor nods. “It reminds you of something, doesn’t it?”

 

Yakov is still frowning, but he looks thoughtful more than anything else. He rifles through the pages again, lingering at certain passages, and Victor feels nothing but satisfaction. Even if Yakov doesn’t like it (and he’s fairly certain Yakov _does_ like it), Victor likes it more than he’s liked anything else he’s written in the past, what, five? Six? Seven years? He can’t remember anymore.

 

“It feels very much like your poetry, actually. It sounds younger.”

 

“More naïve, you mean,” Victor grins. “It’s okay, I kind of like it.”

 

“How many of these have you written?”

 

And by _these_ , Yakov means short stories, and oh boy, Victor has written a _lot_. “Enough for a collection and a half, probably.”

 

Yakov leans back and considers him. Victor feels kind of invincible plus he’s been subjected to the wide array of looks Yakov has at his disposal for years, so this is nothing. “You look better,” Yakov apparently decides, which honestly is a little bit confusing.

 

“Better?” He thinks he knows what Yakov means, but pinpointing what it is exactly is decidedly trickier.

 

The way Yakov is narrowing his eyes is a giveaway. “You know what, send me what you have and we’ll see after your press tour. Do you want to use a pseudonym for this?”

 

Victor doesn’t only feel better, he also feels braver. “No,” he decides. “It’s all me.”

 

*

 

On the plane to LA where he’ll kick off the last leg of his book signings, he watches the only video that exists of Glass Heart so far.

 

The lone guitar in the beginning and the somber black and white setting – the desolate empty streets and the soft, almost dream-like quality of what looks like crisp morning light all serve to make the video haunting and lonely.

 

Glass Heart (if it’s him at all) has black hair and a strong walk, that’s all Victor can tell. The drum kicks in and the voice is stronger but no less lonely, just more determined. He has the lyrics pulled up on his phone while he watches on the tablet and he cannot get over how it’s been composed. Obviously, as Victor knows only a few polite choice phrases in Japanese, he can only credit the talented translators of fandom for the beautiful words, but they can’t pull beauty out of thin air, so the original has to be stunning all on its own.

 

 _“Tightening my fists, I’m fighting, with gentle words, I’m embracing_ ,” Glass Heart sings and Victor loses his breath somewhere over the Pacific.

 

*

 

_GUYS GUUUUUUYS OH MY GOD LOOK AT THIS [PIC] ]PIC] [PIC]_

_What the fuck, Chan_

_IT’S THE STORE FROM THE VIDEO OH MY GOD IT’S FILMED IN DETROIT [PIC]_

_…ARE YOU SERIOUS DO WE HAVE ANY DETROITIANS HERE COME THROUGH AND CONFIRM_

_Seriously chill, he doesn’t want to be found, jfc leave the poor guy alone_

_Can we all just be nice to each other ;;__;;_

_@DoubleTrouble seriously what did you expect from the internet?? It’s the *internet* ffs_

_I just want everyone to get along T___T_

_Be nice to DoubleTrouble, she’s young an impressionable and all you assholes are ruining it_

_Fuck me, Satan has awoken_

_I live in Detroit wtf can I seriously have walked right past him and not known??? I feel cheated_

_Calling up my cousin in Detroit, maybe she wants a visit soon-ish? What do you mean I’ve never wanted to visit before???_

_NO BUT GUYS CAN WE JUST AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH BUT DETROIT_

*

 

“Yuuri-kun, it’s your own decision, I’m not here to force you. I think it’ll be good for you, but it’s not my choice.”

 

Yuuri looks at the prescription in his hands and feels calmer than he has in a long time.

 

“It’s a big step. We’ll adjust the dose as we go along, see what works for you. How does that sound?”

 

Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel like failure, more like regrouping.

 

*

 

Victor emerges from a marathon writing session probably looking like a caveman. He knows he hasn’t followed the normal routines for being a fully functioning member of civilization for at least four days, but to be fair, he’s suffering from it himself. He knows he smells terribly, he knows he needed a shower three days ago, and he also knows that what he’s written this time is the best he’s ever produced. It feels real in ways he’s never felt before, like he hasn’t ever felt capable of capturing with words before.

 

If his next signing is in Detroit, then, well. He’s perhaps spent a little bit of too much time immersed in fandom that in turn has spent an accumulated amount of time that could probably cure cancer on figuring out where in Detroit the video was filmed.

 

He showers and feels like a brand new person. Now he just needs coffee and he’ll feel human.

 

He buttons up his coat and leaves the hotel.

 

Coffeeshops – the common denominator in every country Victor has ever been in. Coffee is the universal language, always easily understood, even if one doesn’t drink coffee. Once there, he pulls up his computer again, opens up hesitantly to Selena and Dan. Dan, probably the least likeable and most cardboard character Victor has ever thought up, needs to learn a few lessons.

 

Dan, a hellish diva, is a singer, and Victor wishes he could make Dan as good as Glass Heart. Dan is not Glass Heart, though, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a change of heart.

 

“ _I don’t know what love is, or how to even get close to it_ ,” Victor murmurs under his breath even as he types it, and he imagines Dan looking out of a moving train and talking to himself, “ _because I can write about it and sing about it, but I just don’t know.”_

 

He stares at the words staring back at him and he feels like he’s been burned.

 

It feels like he put up a mirror and looked straight into it.

 

His stomach knots uncomfortably and he doesn’t want to look at it anymore but forces himself to. What was it Glass Heart had said in his interview? Something about making people _feel_ …? Victor isn’t sure he’s supposed to be moved or affected by his own words in any way, but it is what it is.

 

Uncomfortable.

 

Perhaps it’s time to shelve these characters and focus on his poetry for a while. It feels better, more honest, and it’s been a long while since it’s felt good to write. He’ll aim for that.

 

*

 

Victor is late to his own signing in Detroit. He’d thought he’d wander around and try to locate some of the shops or the buildings from the music video from Glass Heart, because he can admit to the fascination of the dream that he’d accidentally bump into him… but the simple fact is that he’d slept in. He’d slept through his very insistent alarms (six of them, the tones ranging from very terrible and very angry, different tones set personally by Yakov, of all people), and he’d known that he’d need at least one cup of the good kind of coffee if he was to get through this.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to do the signings. He _wants_ to. He wants to look at his fans and thank them, because he’s not stupid, he knows they’re the reason he can write for a living. It’s just that sometimes he has more mental surplus for it than others, and starting the day running behind schedule is not helping matters at all.

 

He’s late to the car picking him up at the hotel, he’s feeling the lateness when he’s pushing through the doors to the bookstore and he’s still feeling it when he gets out a terse smile in response to the harassed-looking young man, who seems to almost faint from relief when Victor actually shows up.

 

“Sorry,” Victor apologizes and tries to even his breath, wow, when did his stamina get this bad? “Sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll stay longer to make up for it, is that okay?”

 

His fans are _perfect_. They’re still waiting for him, they’re still smiling at him, and some of them have started bringing him music they think he’ll like. Ever since he mentioned liking Glass Heart, it’s been this way.

 

He loves it. He loves the earnestness and the wonder and he wishes he can keep these wonderful people from the jarring reality for just a few moments longer. If his words have the power to do that, he’ll cherish that forever.

 

The moment the last fan has left the signing, he’s running. He’s been in need of a caffeine fix for the past hour and he’s not ashamed of the way he hightails out of there.

 

*

 

He’s had his caffeine and after a visit to the bathroom, he’s ready to leave. As he leaves the bathroom, someone rushes past him, and he hears the door slam to one of the stalls. Right after that, someone else rushes past him with apologies spilling from his lips and then there’s silence.

 

Victor blinks. He looks up to see if anyone else is reacting to that particular display, but it seems like nothing is out of the ordinary.

 

Still. He hesitantly pokes his head back into the bathroom and is about to ask if everything is alright, when the young man outside the stall says: “Yuri?”

 

Victor blinks some more. Yuri? It’s not a normal name here in the States, is it?

 

The man knocking gently on the stall looks like he’s about to crouch when the door opens a miniscule amount.

 

“Yuri,” the young man says again, gentle. “It’s alright, it’ll be alright you see. Can you breathe now? Okay, good, do you need me to get your medication? Alright, what about water? Your guitar? I’ll even get your cello for you if need me to.”

 

Amidst sniffles, there’s the mild sound of teary laughter and Victor couldn’t move from the doorway even if he wanted to.

 

The man outside the door smiles as if in victory and clearly warming up to whatever response he’s getting. “Do you even realize how heavy that thing is? I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t choose the double bass as your weapon of choice because holy shit. I’d do it for you, though, I’d carry it for you out of a burning house.”

 

He’s quite pretty, Victor decides, with his dark skin and kind smile.

 

“I actually don’t even know if you _can_ play the double bass,” he continues conversationally, leaning against the side of the doorway, crossing one ankle over the other, his body an easy slouch. “I mean, obviously you can, but _can_ you? I don’t think I ever saw you playing one. I could also go get a baby grand for you, but you might have to give me a little more time for that, and I don’t think we can get away with blocking a stall for that long. To say nothing for how I’m supposed to get it through the doorway. No matter, I’m determined, that should count for something, right? Ciao Ciao would let me borrow his, I’m sure.”

 

It’s soothing, Victor realizes as he blinks owlishly, lulled by the words himself. The boy clearly has no trouble carrying an entire conversation going all by himself, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all, like the presence of his friend is enough.

 

“Phichit,” the other man says from inside the stall. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Nope, try again,” the boy, _Phichit_ , says with an impressive eyeroll. “That’s not how it works and you know it.”

 

There’s a little moment of silence and then, “thank you.”

 

“Good boy,” Phichit grins. “Now, you know I think you always look amazing, but we need to get those tears away and then you’re going to sing for me, because you promised.”

 

There’s more laughter, gentle and tinkling, and then there’s singing and Victor’s entire existence comes to a screeching halt, and that’s the moment the boy in the doorway smiles and looks up and sees Victor. His eyes widen. Then he turns back to the stall, eyes still wide and jaw slack and the song from the stall persists.

 

Victor tries very hard to keep breathing, but it’s difficult when his heart has decided on double time being the new normal, and he’s quite suddenly completely out of breath.

 

“Yuri,” Phichit says, “ _stop_.” And the singing stops as suddenly as it started.

 

As if hypnotized, Victor feels his feet move entirely back into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him, and there’s a hitched breath from inside the stall.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” the boy says and then, “Yuri, stay here.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Victor says – he hears his mouth say it, because fuck, he has no idea what’s happening.

 

“You never heard this,” Phichit says fiercely as he steps up to Victor. “This never happened.”

 

And Victor would love to defend himself, to say he’ll never tell, never tell a single soul about this insane miracle of happenstance, but he never even gets the chance to try and say a single thing, because the stall opens and a boy walks out, teary-eyed and _beautiful_.

 

“Phichit?” The boy says and Victor would know this voice anywhere. He’s listened to it non-stop for months now. He can’t _stop_.

 

The boy halts on his way out of the stall, looking as shaken as Victor feels, and his jaw drops.

 

“Phichit?” the boy says, his voice just as devastatingly perfect and so recognizable out of song now that Victor knows what to listen for, “am I dreaming? Why is Victor Nikiforov in this dingy bathroom?”

 

“Victor Nikiforov can hear you and knows when to shut up if he knows what’s good for him,” Phichit hisses and steps in front of him to physically shield him from Victor; afraid Victor will do what, exactly? Victor tries to make himself look as harmless and unassuming as possible. (And a part of him is alarmingly impressed with how decidedly _un_ impressed Phichit seems to be with him even as he’s obviously recognized.)

 

The boy behind Phichit takes an audibly deep breath as if to steel himself. “It’s alright,” he says, his beautiful voice resigned and sad, somehow. “I couldn’t have done this forever.”

 

Something very closely resembling dread plummets to the bottom of Victor’s stomach. “Are you going to stop?” It comes out much sharper, much more desperate than he intended, but it’s a shock. He doesn’t even know this lovely person, who peeks at him over his friend’s shoulder and looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here in this moment.

 

“I – ” _Glass Heart_ starts and Victor’s heart jump-starts at that sinking in, “I can’t. Not now – not when you’ve seen – ”

 

“Oh god, Yuri, breathe, okay?” Phichit says and is on him in a split second, and now that Victor is listening, he can hear the way Yuri’s breath seems to shorten and hitch with an awful irregular rate.

 

“Is he okay?” Victor asks, taking a possibly ill-advised step closer, but he’s not batted away or even threatened with bodily harm, so he takes another one, and another one, until both young men are in range and he wonders if hell be allowed to touch – just a press of fingers to check if he’s actually _real_.

 

“F-fine,” Glass Heart, _Yuri_ , stammers. “I’ll – ”

 

“Water,” Phichit says to Victor, a pointed directive, “if you please.”

 

Oh, Victor can fetch water like a _pro_. When he returns to the bathroom after assuring the baristas that nothing was wrong, that the boys inside just needed a break and a glass of water, thank you, it turns out that the both of them do seem marginally more composed.

 

“Water,” he says stupidly as he holds it out. He mentally winces, because really? He does words for a living. Smooth.

 

“Thanks,” Phichit says and takes it before holding it out to Glass Heart. He presses it into slack fingers and doesn’t let go until he’s sure it won’t be dropped. “Yuri?”

 

Victor breathes; now that he’s listening, the vowel sounds slightly longer than how he’d heard it first, the inflection subtly different, possibly because he’s used to his own Yuri back in Saint Petersburg.

 

“Thank you,” Glass Heart says after having taken a sip.

 

“I’m _such_ a fan,” Victor’s mouth decides on saying and while he lives through a horrifying out of body experience, seemingly hovering just slightly above himself and can watch himself implode in real time, Glass Heart blinks, red staining the lines of his cheekbones. _In for a penny_ … he might as well not stop at imploding when he can throw himself onto a pile of _dynamite_ instead. “I’ve written an entire collection of poetry based on how your songs make me feel.”

 

He’s not used to being the fan in this equation – he doesn’t seem to know how to stop now that his mouth has gone rogue on him. He’s already outed himself as an absolutely tactless human being, it’s not like it can get much worse, can it?

 

“And you’re even more beautiful than I imagined, oh my god.”

 

Wrong, it _could_ get worse.

 

Glass Heart looks like he’s inches from a heart-attack, but on the plus side, he’s breathing normally, if a little fast.

 

Very drily and from the side and mostly to Glass Heart, Phichit says, “At least he’s more embarrassing in fanboy mode than you?”

 

And the miracle happens; Glass Heart _laughs_ like it punches out of him, helplessly.

 

*

 

_THIS JUST IN: I went to Victor Nikiforov’s book signing today and he couldn’t stop talking about Glass Heart the second someone mentioned his music (and they gave him an honest to god mix tape, I wish I’d thought of that smh) and HE’S ONE OF US seriously it’s adorable help_

_I always thought his works were kind of pretentious but this is such a humanizing trait_

_SHUT THE FRONT DOOR HE’S NOT PRETENTIOUS HIS DEBUT NOVEL WAS MY SEXUAL AWAKENING HOW DARE YOU_

_I DARE BECAUSE I OWN COPIES OF ALL HIS BOOKS and also he was late but I got a selfie with him and he’s so pretty I want to cry, and I’m feeling really petty about the perfect length of his eyelashes. Also he gives really great hugs._

_You’re forgiven, holy jesus WE NEED DETAILS. Does his hair smell good? Is it as soft as it looks?? Is his accent just as charming in real life??? IS THIS JUST FANTASY_

_Fml I hate this fandom._

_*_

 

If hard-pressed, Yuuri would not be able to put the happenings in sequence; somehow everything he’s done today has led to Victor Nikiforov sitting across from him in the tiny, shoebox apartment he used to share with Phichit before he moved back to Japan. Phichit has made sure they both have something to drink (tea for Yuuri, mostly so he has something for his hands to fiddle with) and coffee with two sugars and a splash of milk for Victor Nikiforov, before he left with a final stern look at Victor Nikiforov.

 

Oh wow, Yuuri never thought he’d know how Victor Nikiforov takes his coffee.

 

The weirdest, most bizarre thing about this entire weird and bizarre situation, is how Victor Nikiforov keeps looking like he wants to reach out but stops himself.

 

In Phichit’s and Yuuri’s tiny, tiny college kitchen.

 

Wow.

 

“So your name is Yuuri?” Victor Nikiforov drags the vowel out a little too long, but.

 

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Yuuri corrects, his tongue feeling like a deadweight in his mouth. The shock hasn’t worn off, yet. “It’s Japanese.” Which Victor Nikiforov obviously has figured out seeing as he has listened to his songs and complimented the cinematography in his video, and Yuuri really could _bury_ himself. “But yes. It is. My name, I mean.”

 

It’s sort of worrying how he can’t feel his fingertips, but he can still breathe, and his vision is still clear and not greying around the edges, so it’ll probably be alright.

 

“I’m sorry,” Victor Nikiforov says for some inexplicable reason, “I’m just sort of taken aback. Awed. I never thought I’d meet you. It’s really strange in a good way.”

 

If Yuuri had words, he’d say them, but he settles for staring at his tea. It feels surreal, how he’s already sort of disassociated from the music. How can he ever return now that even just a single person knows it’s him hiding behind words?

 

Another aborted motion with his hand, and suddenly Victor Nikiforov really is holding on to him, his hand on Yuuri’s. His skin is warm. Slightly clammy. It might be from the scalding hot coffee Phichit makes. “You’re not really going to stop singing, are you?”

 

“I’m not,” he says, his vocal chords a ruin of hoarse chaos, but it’s the truth. He’s not. He’s just not going to let people hear, not anymore. The secret is out. But he couldn’t stop singing altogether more than he could stop the world from turning and the sun from rising.

 

“ _Good_ ,” Victor effing Nikiforov says and squeezes his hand gently. “I’d be sad. Your music is amazing.”

 

“I’m glad,” he manages. He can feel eyes boring into the top of his head, but he can’t make himself look up from his tea. It’s like he’s frozen in this strange, strange moment.

 

“I’m Victor,” Victor Nikiforov says, smiling and looking softly happy. “And I sort of wish I’d met you under different circumstances, but _wow_ , I’m just happy I met you at all.”

 

It feels like an invitation.

 

“Hello, Victor.” He tries, but it comes off rolling weirdly from his tongue, however Victor looks positively thrilled, as if he can’t believe it. Yuuri can relate; he really can’t believe this is happening, either. Any of it. Victor might be happy, but it also means a part of Yuuri has to be cut loose. There’s no way he can continue this when the shroud of secrecy is gone, when his refuge of anonymity has been lost. It’s been therapy; exhilarating, terrifying, wonderful therapy, but it’s time to take a step back. Victor knows who he is, which means it’ll only be about time before more people connect the dots and see _him_ , just plain Yuuri, who is a _mess_.

 

Yuuri is not ready, but will he ever be…?

 

“My cousin’s name is also Yuri,” Victor says quite out of the blue, but he’s still smiling like everything is right in the world, like the bottom of _Yuuri’s_ world hasn’t just dropped out from beneath his feet. “I was a bit confused when I heard Phichit say your name. I suppose it was a bit arrogant of me to assume it was a Russian name just from that, but old habits die hard, I guess.”

 

“I suppose,” Yuuri says, trying to swallow whatever it is that is lodged in his throat and making it difficult to speak.

 

Victor is smiling so widely, so genuinely, his entire face a beacon of light. “Wow, I’m just. I’m sorry, I’m trying not to fanboy too much. I’m such a fan. _Wow_.”

 

It feels like a joke – Yuuri has never felt more like a fraud than in this moment where Victor Nikiforov is looking at him as if he’s something special. It feels like the ultimate trick he’s done, the way he’s somehow managed to pull the wool over the entire world.

 

Victor is not even realizing that Yuuri is a walking disaster, a catastrophe in human form, just waiting to unfold. There are little earthquakes following at his heels everywhere he goes, just waiting to furl into a full-fledged calamity.

 

“I thought,” Yuuri starts, wetting his dry, dry lips. His voice sounds terrible. If he doesn’t have his voice, then what does he have left? “I thought it’d have to be a mistake. I thought – there was no way you’d – you couldn’t _possibly_ know who I am.”

 

“Oh,” Victor’s cheeks redden impossibly. “I didn’t know you’d see that. I’m sorry, but my readers are sometimes a little bit, uh, _intense_. My twitter was a bit of a mess after that.”

 

Yuuri winces. He can only imagine. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes because what else can he do?

 

“ _No_ ,” Victor says vehemently. “Don’t apologize for your fans and I won’t apologize for mine getting to know your music. It’s a good thing, however much it was like a war zone for a moment there.”

 

Victor doesn’t want his apologies, so what else does Yuuri have that he could possibly want? He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to, because Victor seems more than capable of holding this entire conversation on his own, with Yuuri’s participation being completely optional. It reminds him a little bit of Phichit.

 

“You need a press guy,” Victor says, nodding to himself. His eyes are so blue, so earnest. In photographs, Victor’s eyes have appeared icy like the deepest frost, but here in the fluorescent lights of Phichit’s kitchen, they’re blue like the summer sky, warm and intense. “To do damage control.”

 

Yuuri’s throat is _parched_ , his heart a knotted, complicated mess surging upwards and lodging in the vicinity of his trachea. “I _have_ a press guy,” he says and it sounds steady, an illusion of not falling apart. “It’s Phichit.”

 

Victor nods, eager, as if he couldn’t possibly want to be anywhere else than here in this moment where Yuuri speaks. Everything in Yuuri screams that Victor is just being nice, but he finds that he wants to extrapolate. “Phichit makes sure I’m up to speed on whatever I need to know. Everything else is just… too much.”

 

Victor takes a deep breath. “I know it affords you privacy, this way of doing things and letting your music sift through the internet, but why?” Victor asks. “You’re _so_ talented, you could easily gain so much more. So, why this? Why the subterfuge?”

 

This point never gets any easier. It doesn’t matter how many people he’s told or how many times he’s said the words out loud in front of the mirror. He’d deliberately kept it from so many people so they wouldn’t see him as weak and look at him differently, but in the end it hadn’t helped any.

 

“I,” he begins and swallows in an attempt to wet his dry throat. “I-I have anxiety. The kind that makes people want to not deal with it or me when they see it.”

 

He knows it’s not what Victor expected, that _he’s_ nothing like Victor expected, this mess of a person.

 

The last thing he expects is for Victor to move his chair around the table until they’re very, very close, and place a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. It’s still warm, so warm, and the fingers squeeze his shoulder. He’s never been as aware of his shoulder before. That tiny point of contact feels like the first time in years he’s been touched by someone not his family or Phichit.

 

It’s probably true.

 

“Yuuri,” Victor says warmly, “I’m honored you’d tell me this. Now I just need to know who’d ever in their right mind not want to deal with you, because I’d like to ask them what the hell is wrong with them.”

 

Yuuri finds himself, despite his insecurities and his disbelief and his _everything_ , touched. Oh, there’s disbelief, and plenty of it to boot, but this entire afternoon has been so surreal that it’s like he just has to suspend disbelief, at least parts of it. “You don’t even know me.”

 

And something warms so brightly behind Victor’s eyes, his earnest touch, and his small, intimate smile is nothing less than sincere when he aims it at Yuuri. “Oh, but I do.”

 

*

 

_I realize we’ve been spoiled in the past with so much new Glass Heart content but it’s been radio silence for a few weeks now and I keep thinking what if he’s decided that he’s had enough? It makes my heart so sad, ugh :(_

_I really think you should calm down. What if he *has* decided that enough is enough? Can’t we just appreciate the absolute amazing songs he’s put out for us and just love whatever we got while it lasted? I will forever remember these few months as something truly amazing that happened and that I sincerely hope that whoever Glass Heart, and wherever he is, that he’s even just a fraction as happy as he made me._

_Fucking. Amen. Well said. You can speak for on my behalf any time._

_It turns out I don’t hate this fandom all the time._

_Here’s NSFW art of Glass Heart with tentacles!_

_….I spoke too soon. Fml._

*

 

In the afternoon light, Yuuri looks washed out, pale and still and teetering on the edge of something Victor doesn’t understand. He wants to reach out and pull him away, tug him to safety and it’s a curious thing, how Yuuri wields vulnerability and a startling strength. Yuuri is very clearly convinced of his weakness and all Victor sees is iron will and a drive to persevere.

 

Yuuri makes more coffee for him and Victor can’t stop himself from drinking him in.

 

He’s everything he could ever have dreamed up – he’s nothing at all like what Victor could ever have imagined. He’s so much _more_.

 

“I don’t know if you remember, but I told you this earlier,” Victor says and watches Yuuri as he leans back against the kitchen counter. The tap drips a little bit in the sink. “I wrote poetry because you made me feel something I thought I’d lost.”

 

Yuuri swallows and looks down. He has the loveliest eyes and Victor wished he’d look up a lot more, but it’s like he’s not sure he has permission to look. He says softly, “I really like your earliest work.”

 

Victor can’t help it. He beams, feels the smile stretch his cheeks. “Really? Do you want to read the new ones? I can bring it tomorrow if you want.” It’s daring, but Victor has nothing to lose. If he can convince Yuuri to meet him again, maybe he can convince him of singing to him? To keep contact? To keep being this lovely and exist in Victor’s life?

 

Yuuri looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that offer, but he nods anyway. “Sure.”

 

“Can I – take you to dinner? You say I don’t know you, but I’d like to, Yuuri. If you’ll let me.”

 

He’s so lovely, even when he looks like he can’t believe it. “It’ll have to be… discreet.”

 

Contrary to what people normally think about him, Victor can do discreet.

 

*

 

When Victor wakes, he can’t for the life of him figure out why the hell he didn’t close the blinds last night. Then he turns his head, and there is Yuuri, sleeping, clothes rumpled and mouth slightly parted on a breath.

 

Oh, right.

 

Victor smiles at nothing in particular.

 

After careful questions, a careful approach, Yuuri had talked.

 

Yuuri is a music major. He had a complete meltdown at the most important recital of his life and hurried through his graduation, so he could exile himself in Japan. He’d said this with a very becoming flush on his face, as if he believed himself to be ridiculous for wanting to regroup and come back stronger, but it’s not ridiculous to Victor.

 

He told Yuuri of the first time he’d emailed a publisher a draft of his first ever finished novel, and had accidentally sent him the very not safe for work fanfiction he’d written while drunk and hating the end of his at the time favorite series.

 

Yuuri had appeared to not know whether or not it was safe to laugh – when he’d sent the fanfiction he’d been mortified and hadn’t wanted to ever show himself in public again. With Yuuri it feels safe to look at it with distance and admit it’s pretty funny. His lips had twitched and Yuuri’s mouth had curved upwards in response.

 

“It’s not like I know enough about life to give any sound advice,” Victor had acknowledged when the sun had gone down and he’d managed to coax Yuuri to curl up on the bed, tired and buried in blankets, “but life goes on, you know?”

 

Yuuri had looked down. “I _do_ know that,” he’d admitted. “But I’m not ready yet.”

 

And he’d fallen asleep across from Victor, mouth slack, eyelashes fanned out and Victor had probably stared too long at him for it to not be creepy. Yuuri had allowed him close enough to touch – but Victor hadn’t wanted to push. Or well, he’d _wanted_ to, but more than that, he’d wanted to make sure Yuuri knew he could be trusted.

 

“Please be here when I wake up,” Victor had whispered to Yuuri’s sleeping form, and now in the early morning light, there he is, just as lovely if not even lovelier than yesterday. Glass Heart. Yuuri. One and the same. Even better in the daylight, real and not just an incorporeal voice in his speakers.

 

He’d never gotten around to showing Yuuri any of his newest work, but it hadn’t mattered. He might be biased and very intent on getting to know Yuuri, but he’s quite sure he’s never met anyone as easy to talk to as Yuuri. He has a feeling Yuuri will object quite vehemently to that, but he’s not awake to argue.

 

Meeting someone that just fits perfectly against all Victor’s own rough edges? He’s never believed in it before, but Detroit has him considering otherwise.

 

*

 

If Victor had been disappointed with everything Yuuri is: a right mess, he hadn’t showed it. In fact, to Yuuri’s continuous and eternal bewilderment, Victor continues to look strangely fascinated.

 

The afternoon Victor had left Detroit, he’d gone to the airport after folding Yuuri in to his arms, fitting him into the edges of his own body, and Yuuri is weak. He’d clung to Victor much more desperately than he’d like to admit – he doesn’t even know Victor, not really. Not that _that_ had stopped Victor from latching on, however; Yuuri, who is probably one of the least tactile persons on the planet: faced with the unstoppable force of Victor and his touches and his kind smile and barrage of words and intentions…

 

Yuuri had intended to tell him to stay away, to warn him off. He’d intended to guard his own heart and keep Victor at arm’s length at the very minimum, but he can’t even be surprised that Victor had ignored all his alarm systems and had cheerfully taken his hand and smiled with his eyes at him over the rim of his cup.

 

Yuuri is so weak. He wants to believe there’s something in him that can hold Victor’s attention and to be worthy of keeping it. Surely, he can’t be faulted for that…?

 

It had been a surreal day and night with Victor Nikiforov, who’d looked like he wanted to ask Yuuri to sing, but very determinedly _didn’t_ , but only grabbed and caught hold of his hand and his eyes and all of his attention and just kept asking questions.

 

It’d been unnerving.

 

It’d been utterly terrifying.

 

Before Victor left for the airport and the plane that would take him on to the other side of the world, he’d stood before Yuuri and held on to both of his hands, and said, very calmly; “Yuuri, I’d really like to keep in touch with you, to keep talking to you. Will you allow me that?”

 

A request with no pressure, as if every little thing Yuuri could ever ask of him would be accommodated.

 

He hadn’t had to tell Victor to not mention him anywhere. He hadn’t needed to. He’d left his number in Victor’s phone and his email address on a note and had decided to take a leap. He’d trust Victor.

 

Victor, who’d held him so firmly and had brushed his mouth so gently over his fingers. Victor’s eyes so kind and so startlingly blue, they made Yuuri _want_ to pluck at the strings of his cello. Victor’s sharp cheekbones, the curve of his jaw that looked like it would fit perfectly into Yuuri’s hand and how it would tilt just so into his palm…

 

Yuuri is so, so weak.

 

It’s silly to believe it’s love.

 

It’s affection, surprising fondness, and maybe, something deeper taking root.

 

*

 

 **From:** v-nikinikiforov@stammivic.ru

 **To:** [katsuyu@edu.uni.com](mailto:katsuyu@edu.uni.com)

 

_Dear Yuuri,_

_Thank you for your email, it was really good to hear from you. Would you believe that I wasn’t sure you’d actually write? Perhaps telling you that wasn’t smart of me._

_Saint Petersburg is very close to being completely covered in snow now and it’s only November. It feels like it’s very early, but I’m not entirely sure. The winters here are long and cold, but I’m writing a lot these days so it doesn’t feel like this winter will be too long. Does that make sense? I can’t recall the last time Winter came this early, but maybe I’m just used to living vicariously through my writing._

_Detroit was a breath of fresh air, Yuuri._

_It’s your birthday this month, isn’t it? What do you want for your birthday? If there’s anything I can get you, let me know. Personally I’m not much for birthdays, but Yuri, my cousin (do you remember I mentioned him?), always tells me I’m being weird about it. I don’t think so. Am I? Do you celebrate your birthday in Japan?_

_I promised myself I wouldn’t ask, so here’s a statement instead: if you want to tell me about any new music, I’d be delighted._

_This email was my reward for having finished the chapter I promised Yakov. He’s my publisher, did I tell you that? I’m sorry, I told you so many things, I can’t quite remember which I told you and which I didn’t, and which I wished I’d told you when you were in front of me. Reward: yes, this response was my reward and I better get back to work._

_I have an amazing soundtrack to my writing and I’m more inspired than I’ve ever been in my entire writing career. I have you to thank for that, I believe._

_Please take care of yourself, I heard Detroit can get really cold in the Winter, too._

_Yours,_

_Victor_

_*_

 

“You look happy,” Phichit says gently.

 

Yuuri blinks and looks over at Phichit, who’s just doing that thing where his mouth isn’t smiling, but his eyes are.

 

Yuuri’s been reading Victor’s emails, and when he reaches up to touch his mouth, the corners are turned up without his explicit permission. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

 

“A little bit,” Phichit agrees generously as he sits down next to Yuuri on the couch. He knocks their shoulders. “You’re allowed to be happy, you know that, right?”

 

Yuuri looks at the words on his screen, _Victor’s_ words, so generous and kind (and obviously way too flattering for what Yuuri really deserves, but Yuuri has always been a glutton for kindness even when he won’t admit it, _especially_ when he won’t admit it) and it’s startling to realize that someone knows his secret and the world didn’t end. It didn’t implode; he didn’t go online to see his own face plastered all over the internet, he didn’t wake up only to endure his anxiety – Victor kept his word.

 

It wasn’t that Yuuri had doubted _Victor_ – not exactly.

 

Yuuri always doubts _himself_.

 

It’s a lot more complicated when the relationship he tends to have the most trouble with, is the one he has with himself.

 

But Victor had taken a look at him, then switched on the metaphorical flashlight and taken a closer look, and wondrously, taken his hand and held on and pulled him into the light.

 

And yet, miraculously, the world still turns.

 

“I know,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He feels his hands trembling, but for once it’s not a bad thing. He feels the wonder and awe lodged so tightly in is ribcage, but they’re expanding and making every inhale – exhale – inhale a little bit easier than the one before. His fingers twitch for strings. “I know.”

 

*

 

_OH MSSFU SOFJFZJ CDJ HOLY SJDKSKFD I CCCCCCAAAAAAAAAAN’TTTTTTT_

_WHO WE GONNA CALL? JAPANESE SPEAKING SIDE OF FANDOM!_

_On it, guys, oh my god give me a mo, I’m sobbing while listening and it’s difficult typing and actually using my brain while bawling my eyes out HOLD ON THERE’S A MONSOON ON MY FACE_

_Dear God and Jesus and freaking Shiba and Buddha and Thor and Cthulhu thank you thank you thank you_

_I think you mean Shiva, because shiba is a kind of *dog*, oh my god and OH MY GOD CTHULHU WHY_

_Well, I’d pray to dogs and tentacles too if it gets us more music like this._

_I love him, okay? He sounds really, really good. I really hope he’s happy._

_We were patient and we were rewarded._

_Not *that* patient, you were whining just last week LOL_

_You can’t hold me accountable for that, I was going through withdrawal symptoms like whoa and it was a severe case of acute lack of good music._

_Well, put that way…_

_I GOT YOU FAM translation and I’ll be back for some revising when I’m done sobbing into my keyboard who am I kidding I’LL NEVER STOP [LINK]_

_*_

**From:** [katsuyu@edu.uni.com](mailto:katsuyu@edu.uni.com)

 **To:** v-nikinikiforov@stammivic.ru

 

_Dear Victor_

_I’m glad you enjoyed the song? I’m not sure since your email mostly consisted of exclamation points. Happy early birthday? You said you were probably being weird about it, but I don’t think so. Isn’t it odd to have an entire day devoted to you like this? It makes me feel self-conscious in so many different ways…_

_All I want for my birthday is for Victor to stay Victor._

_Maybe it’s weird that I got you something for your birthday after all, but it’s all I can do and I can’t help it. If I try… I get weird. I’m not good when I don’t have my music. I’m just not good. I’m not right._

_…you don’t have to get me anything for my birthday. This is more than enough for me. It’s more than I deserve._

_Love,_

_Yuuri._

_(I know the internet stays busy, did you read the translation of the song?)_

*

 

“It’s done,” Victor says and exhales. The printed first edition on pristine white papers in a neat stack.

 

Yakov raises an eyebrow. “More poetry?”

 

“ _So_ much poetry,” Victor agrees. “Read it. I like it.”

 

He expects some smartassery from Yakov, some quip about it being what he’s paid to do; but there’s nothing. There’s an expression on his face Victor isn’t sure he’s ever seen before, not even when Victor was young in the game and not used to being a commodity to be spoken of in public spaces. Yakov had taken him under his wing, so to speak, shown him the ropes and opened so many doors for him.

 

“You’ve changed, Vitya. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. It suits you.”

 

Victor inclines his head.

 

*

 

_ALRIGHTALRIGHTALRIGHTALRIGHTALRIGHTALRIGHT_

_Okay McConaughey, shut up. It’s too early for this._

_…sorry, I was just excited for getting my copy of Victor Nikiforov’s newest book. I’M LATE TO THE PARTY OKAY. I’m sorry I called him pretentious ;;__;;_

_Ugh fine._

_When exactly is too early to shitpost??? I have so many memes to post and so little time and all of it is getting sort of swept to the side by Glass Heart and his purrrrrrfection._

_Guys, I know most of you won’t even read this and most of you are only here for my translations and fanart (and get my shitty, non-existent photoshop skills instead), but if it wasn’t for Glass Heart I wouldn’t even *be* here today. I’m so grateful for him and every single word he’s written and sung and given to us, and I’m so grateful for every single one of you guys that I’ve got to know because of him. He’s saved my life in more ways than one and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find the words for how important he is to me. So, tl;dr, thank you, Glass Heart. I hope you’re happy and safe and as loved in your real life as you are by us._

_WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M CRYING THERE’S JUST A FREAKING *LOG* IN MY EYE, or my eyes are sweating or something like that holy shit_

_I LOVE YOU STEPH CHECK YOUR EMAIL I LOVE YOU_

_…I don’t hate this fandom all the time._

_*_

 

It took two weeks for Victor to slowly talk Yuuri around to the idea that actual talking on the phone instead of emails would be great. Actually, it’s not a substitute for the emails because those will have to sustain Victor when Yuuri isn’t on the phone with him, but it’s a most welcome addition.

 

Victor lives for the days he has Yuuri on the phone or on skype.

 

It shouldn’t be possible, but it is. It somehow _is_ possible for Katsuki Yuuri to get lovelier the more Victor gets to know him.

 

Yuri calls him an idiot and a lovesick fool and is completely convinced that Victor has thrown himself into online dating, if the way he’s “leering and grinning like a fucking maniac at the screen” is anything to go by.

 

Yuri’s not wrong. …At least, he’s not _entirely_ wrong. Victor hopes Yuuri reads their emails with the same fondness and looks forward to their talks with the same anticipation and longing, excitement and _want_. He can’t decide anything for Yuuri, and he doesn’t want to, or it doesn’t count.

 

But slowly, Victor thinks Yuuri looks happier. As if he’s opened up a window and is allowing himself to breathe. Victor isn’t conceited enough to believe that he’s the entire reason, but he really hopes that he plays at least a little part in it. If he is the reason Yuuri’s smile falls a little bit easier, a little bit wider, a little bit freer, god, Victor could write books about it.

 

He already wrote a poetry collection about Yuuri’s words and the man who wrote them, and that was before he got to _know_ him. The possibilities are endless.

 

Yuuri is so fascinating. Every little thing he says or does is something new; his words are worlds that are opening up new dimensions for Victor. Yuuri isn’t his muse, it doesn’t work like that. If anything, Yuuri, by his mere stubborn existence, challenges his views and makes him want to be truer, gentler, more honest.

 

“Hey,” he says and balances his chin on the heel of his hand, elbow planted firmly on the desk. On the screen in front of him, Yuuri looks tired, but so, so good, messy hair and glasses just slightly askew. “How are you? How was your flight?”

 

Yuuri smiles, though that little quirk of his lips that doesn’t get any wider. Yuuri doesn’t laugh very often, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t amused. Victor is learning, and besides, if it makes him do a shit ton of stupid things in order to make him laugh, at least it’ll have been for a good cause. Making Yuuri laugh is a pretty good mission. He’ll dedicate a huge chunk of his existence to that.

 

“I’m alright,” Yuuri says, his voice a distorted, tinny thing. “Flight was… long. There was a kid behind me that was protesting quite violently. It’s nice to be back, though. My old ballet teacher came to get me from the airport.”

 

Victor grins. “Minako-sensei, right?” He tries to remember everything Yuuri tells him, which is a challenge, but a challenge he’s accepted. “How’s everyone?”

 

“Everyone’s good, already putting me to work since there’s snow here, too. It was nice with some physical work for a change. My arms feel a little bit like limp noodles now, though.” For effect, he waves his arms a bit, accompanied by a bashful grin.

 

Oh, but what wonderful limp noodles. Victor could dream about those arms. He could stare at Yuuri all day, and apparently Yuuri picks up on that, because he pinks slightly, the skin on the bridge of his nose flushed, but he doesn’t look away. Victor thinks that just a month ago, he might have.

 

“I wanted to thank you,” he starts and watches intently as Yuuri’s smile fades a little, but it’s not gone. “For the song. I know you said you didn’t want anything for your birthday, but – ”

 

“Victor,” Yuuri cuts in, “I know the flowers were from you and they were lovely. I even thanked you for them.”

 

Victor grins. “Well _, ye-es_ , but they were place holders for something else. So, to thank you for your song, which is incredible, and I love it, I had to wait a little bit for your present. But,” and he reaches for the book beside his computer and holds it up, “I have this for you. I can’t send it to you for legal reasons, but there’s absolutely no reason why I can’t bring it to you or bring you here to get it yourself.”

 

Yuuri’s mouth goes slack and for a moment, it looks like he wants to reach through the screen with an aborted movement. Instead, his hand goes up to cover his mouth. “Is that…?”

 

“Yes,” Victor says, proud and feeling it warm him to his core. “It’s my new poetry collection. It’s the first copy that was printed. Literal first press. And it’s yours. Happy belated birthday, Yuuri.”

 

Until this moment, until he saw the way Yuuri lights up as if from within, his eyes going soft and his smile so warm, Victor hadn’t known it’d be the right choice. He knows he tends to overdo things, to make gestures grander than they have any right to be, and he missteps often, but with this? He looks at Yuuri and sees profound wonder.

 

And he knows he was right, this time he made the right choice. His heart made the right choice.

 

“Victor, that’s too much,” Yuuri starts, but then stops and breathes. “I’m trying to – I do this thing where I think I don’t deserve nice things. And Victor, this is beyond – _anything_. It doesn’t feel like I should deserve this. And I don’t know what to say.”

 

“You could start with ‘Thank you, Victor.’”

 

Yuuri’s grin turns a touch warmer. “Thank you, Victor,” he says dutifully.

 

For a long moment, he allows himself to just look, and Yuuri doesn’t turn away from his scrutiny. Victor feels pleasure curl at the base of his spine, because he likes looking at Yuuri, and he preens at the thought that Yuuri likes looking right back at _him_. “So, about getting this book…”

 

Yuuri blinks, then averts his eyes, then he grins, self-conscious and adorable. “Oh, you just invited yourself here, didn’t?”

 

“Technically,” Victor defends, “I was telling you about ways to get my book to you, there was no inviting myself anywhere going on.”

 

Yuuri looks so fond that Victor feels like he might swoon. He wets his lips and hesitates; his hitching breath audible even through the gossamer connection that exists between Russia and Japan. “You’re welcome here,” he says tentatively and nothing more.

 

Is this what a heart-attack feels like?

 

“Yuuri,” he breathes and is pretty convinced he’s looking awestruck and smitten and he’s also pretty sure Yuuri doesn’t mind. He hopes Yuuri doesn’t mind. “I’d _love_ to. Is it really alright? Are you sure?”

 

For once, Yuuri looks entirely calm, entirely determined and the very picture of serenity. “I’m sure.”

 

“Well then,” Victor manages around the tap dance routine his heart is surely doing. “Then I just need to ask you something very, very personal. It’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”

 

Yuuri blinks. “What?”

 

“Can you play the harp?”

 

Yuuri _laughs_.

 

*

 

Under the darkening evening sky of Hasetsu, Yuuri tries his very best not to cry, but it’s a moot point, because Victor has given him a copy of his newest book, he’s the first to read it besides his editor and the army of the publishing company; he’s the first that matters – that’s what Victor said.

 

Okay, so he cries.

 

“I don’t know how you do it,” he manages and when he looks up, Victor is a blurry figure that has a million watt smile that makes Yuuri’s knees and heart so, so weak. “You have a way with words…”

 

Victor blinks. When he’d stepped into the arrivals area in the airport, he’d looked like the most wonderful Russian dream Yuuri’s brain could ever have cooked up. Even when he’s blurry and looking confused, he’s still the most handsome man Yuuri has ever seen.

 

“Yuuri,” Victor breathes and his accent is somehow heavier here in a world of Japanese. “All of this is you. Every single word of this was inspired by you and _your_ words. You say I have a way with words, but _god_ , Yuuri, all I want is to come closer to what _you_ can do. Don’t you know how amazing you are?”

 

The words on the page in front of him are beautiful and he’d much rather address that than that latter half of Victor’s statement. “Victor, can I sing this? Or try to, at least?”

 

Victor’s breath whooshes out of him in a rush, and for a very long moment, his anxiety buzzes in his ear and he thinks furiously that he shouldn’t have asked, but then it’s like the dawn. If Yuuri thought Victor’s smile had been stunning before, it was nothing compared to now. Victor makes an aborted movement of his arm, then lowers it, then seems to change his mind and lifts it just as he scoots closer.

 

Yuuri is so, so weak… and he doesn’t need more invitation than that.

 

He moves incrementally closer until he can slip under the bend of Victor’s arm and Yuuri sighs when he fits just so against him.

 

“Of course you can,” Victor breathes and oh, Yuuri thinks dazedly as Victor presses his mouth to Yuuri’s temple. “Yuuri, of course. I’d be so, so happy.”

 

It should be so weird – it should be impossible in all the impossible ways, but it’s not. Yuuri feels it and it feels good, right into his core where he’s still a little bit afraid, but maybe that’s okay, too. He might never be ready to show his face to the world, he might never be ready to release his works and be alright with bearing the brunt of the public eye, but this, right here, is just about enough.

 

It’s actually more than enough. It’s so different than what media tells you – love. Love looks like many things, one of them is being brave enough to invite your favorite author across the world to listen to his music right from his mouth and his heart.

 

One of them is flying from Russia to present a book of poetry.

 

One of them is staying up late to translate a poem into Japanese and then sitting in front of Victor and singing it, raw and bare and so very naked in all the ways that matter.

 

After this, Victor will kiss him and shake with emotion, it’ll be a little bit messy because of tears but it’ll be wonderful.

 

But before this kiss, he sits in his childhood bedroom, curled around his guitar, watches Victor watch _him_ , and he opens his mouth and sings.

 

* 

**Author's Note:**

> DL link to the EP [HERE](https://mega.nz/#!lchVmQCB!N3pK6srcH7ScrvDH8J3_NckKeEZ3GPQiYAI37aOKHkI)
> 
> Nishikido Ryo – Monologue (the Video)  
> [Translation](https://sunless-warmth.livejournal.com/1371.html)
> 
> Nishikido Ryo – Ordinary (Victor’s birthday present)  
> [Translation](https://deirdre-diuran.livejournal.com/42869.html)
> 
> Sono Egao Boku Ni Misete – News (Victor’s poem)  
> [Translation](https://mayonaka-otaku.livejournal.com/13170.html)


End file.
